The Kids on the Hill
by Monica Moss
Summary: Roy Mustang visits Risembool to reconnect with his half-sister, but the past may haunt him in a way he never expected. Who's taking care of the two little boys she left behind? And what is it that the neighbors were acting so strangely about?


Roy had suspected that his half-sister's town only needed one rail line: who would have business in this out-of-the-way place?

He stepped off the train, setting his small gray duffel bag down on the station's cement tiles. He turned his back to East City, buttoning up his black jacket.

The air's chill clung tighter than he'd expected. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to the elevation difference while grabbing clothes for his first chance at a reunion.

He should hurry to Trisha's before the evening got any colder or the thick gray clouds overhead actually burst.

The off-duty soldier reached his bare hands into his dark pants' pocket to find the memo he'd written. _Elric/Hohenheim – Risembool, East, House #23._ At least, that's what Hughes had found for him.

It wasn't much of an address, but Roy should be able to find it in a tiny town like this. Beyond the yellow station building, he could see a single street of large houses, leading toward a hill. Somewhere in the greenery had to be his destination.

He hoisted his bag and hurried off, onto the long dirt path through Risembool. He'd passed the first four houses by the time the daylight reds and browns blended into each other. He could just make out the painted numbers in the lights streaming through the windows.

By the time he passed #21, his breath blew out in condensation clouds, and he was jealous of the gardens sleeping warmly underneath their tarps. His sister had better recognize him after the past decade and let him in.

Night had fallen and the barometric pressure was strong. He moved his legs a little faster, paying no attention to the fair-haired girl in front of #22, searching for something in the dark grass.

He could see the next house now, the one that had to be his sister's. It sat on the next hill, inviting him over with a yellow light shining through a downstairs window.

A patch of road brightened as the neighbor's front door opened. "Winry!" A short old woman was standing on the wooden porch. "I found it."

Roy kept his eyes ahead of him, but he heard the girl's loud voice from the yard. "Good. I did _not_ want to find it tomorrow if Den had lost it out here." She sprinted inside the house.

None of this interested him. In fact, he would have kept going, uninterrupted if the old woman hadn't called out, "Who are you?"

He stopped, turning and fixing her with a simple smile. "I'm Roy Mustang. I'm just visiting your neighbors." He nodded to his sister's house.

The woman frowned, lips pulling at her wrinkles as she glanced to the next hill. "There's a light on. That's odd. Someone may actually greet you over there."

He blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

She just shook her head. "You be careful, young man."

The elder retreated into her home and shut the door behind her, plunging the street back fully into the night.

Roy couldn't afford the time to think anything of it. He could only strike out, shivering, through the pressured stillness. He could feel that the storm was going to start any moment.

With any luck, he wouldn't be too soaked when he got to Trisha's.

Lightening flashed as he reached the base of her home's hill, thunder ripping the stillness soon after. All at once, the rain pounded down in nearly-frozen columns.

He ran up the newly muddy road, eyes fixed on the light ahead. He could make out more of the house now, white and peaceful, with a warm-wooded front porch waiting up for him. He banged on the door, teeth chattering.

He stood there, wrapping his arms around himself. Underneath his jacket, his white cotton shirt clung to his chest.

For a moment, he thought he smelled ash like that in Ishval.

The alchemist squeezed his eyes shut, grasping for memories of his kind sister instead. She'd always loved sitting by the fire and hearing a good story.

On the current stormy night, there was a creak, then….

"Hello?"

When Roy opened his eyes, he saw a little blond boy, looking up at him with golden eyes.

Was this Trisha's kid?

"Hello. Is your mom here?"

The boy's face fell. His golden eyes dripped down toward the wooden floor. "You're Uncle Roy, aren't you? Mom used to talk about you."

Just when Mustang thought he couldn't get any colder in his drenched clothes, his heart stopped short. _Used to?_ Was Trisha dead?

The blond turned and beckoned Roy inside. "I'll ask Brother how long you can stay."

Roy stepped through the threshold. His breath no longer showed up visibly, but it was nearly as cold inside as it was outside. How could his nephews stand it in here? "Your brother? Shouldn't you ask your father?"

The boy shook his head. "Look, I'll bring back wood and matches or something, okay? I'm sure there's enough time for you to dry off. Just take a seat."

"Wait!" Roy called after him, but his nephew had already vanished into the darkness of the hallway, not even a light to show him the way. Grumbling, he crossed the bare floor and bent down by the fireplace.

He noticed the filth. Dust coated the house as thought it had stood empty for years.

The fireplace was worse. Inside still sat ashes of past fires, so thick that they would suffocate any new spark before it took hold.

Roy reached for a brush on the side of the hearth. "When's the last time anyone's cleaned this thing out?"

There was a pang in his chest. For all he knew, the last person to clean the fireplace could have been Trisha.

He was gathering the ashes into the tray when a new child's voice sounded. "So this is Uncle Roy. He's late."

"Late for what, kid?" He lifted the dustpan and stood up, getting a look at the newcomer. He stared, just for a moment. He couldn't help himself: the boy's eyes were burning.

This child stood shorter than the first, but he held himself confidently nonetheless. His arms were crossed across his chest, his long blond hair pulled back and his eyebrows lowered to match his scowl. "Everything. Mom's funeral, saving us, take your pick."

He would have diffused some tension by pointing out the boy's melodrama, but his younger nephew spoke quicker, even while setting a load of wood and blankets on the floor.

"Brother, that's not fair. Mom said she never knew what happened to him. He probably never knew what happened to her. The state _separated_ them, like they would have done to us if we'd gone to an orphanage."

Roy got his mouth open this time, but an incredibly _loud_ child spoke over him.

"Listen up, _rotten uncle!_ You can stay for a bit, but you've got to be out of here by eleven. We only let you in here because of Mom. Al, you tell him!" The child spun his heel and sprinted toward the hall, ignoring the darkness.

"The lights?" Roy called after him.

"….don't work in that hallway," admitted his more polite nephew, adding kindling to a tepee fire. "We replaced them shortly before Brother and I went to live with our teacher in Dublith, but they burned out again by the time we left. We never got a chance to get better bulbs."

A teacher? So someone _was_ looking after them. Roy allowed himself to relax, taking a box of matches in his hands and lighting the fireplace. "You two never told me your names."

"I'm Alphonse. My older brother is Edward. I'm sorry about him: he's been really hurt."

Roy could almost still see the child's angry yellow eyes glaring at him. "I can tell." He started to remove his soaked outer garments and lay them out by the fire. He wrapped the blanket around himself and Alphonse sat down next to him, keeping a companionable silence for a while.

As the flames spread to the timber, Alphonse scooted closer to his arm. Roy thought he felt goosebumps rise under the blanket's wool as the child leaned his head against him.

The poor kid must have been cold, living in the freezer that was his own house. "Use that extra blanket."

Alphonse shook his head. "I don't need it."

He settled into Roy's side instead. Roy allowed it.

They gazed at the warm flames together as the front room slowly heated up, but the wooden floors and rosy mantel looked dead without Trisha.

"Alphonse, tell me about your mother. Was she happy?"

The question turned into hours of discussion. Roy scowled as he heard of how his sister died, waiting for her love's return.

They spoke of happy subjects after that, especially when they ran across their shared interest in alchemy. He had to say, and not just as an uncle, but Alphonse's knowledge of alchemy excelled well beyond his age. His teacher must have done an excellent job.

The boy stared deep into the fireplace, holding so still he may well have forgotten to breathe. "Hey, Uncle Roy? Can you come here and visit us once in a while? I mean, you don't have to, but it gets lonely."

Roy frowned at the crackling fire in front of them. "I thought you lived in Dublith, with your teacher."

The boy's gaze didn't deviate from the flames. "We did, but then we finished. Now we have to stay here."

Roy frowned. "Who's looking after you?"

Al pressed his lips together, glancing toward the window, where lightening was still flashing and rain was still pouring like punch. "Do you think the storm's light enough to go out?"

No, Roy didn't, and he wasn't about to let his nephew dodge his question. "Don't change the subject."

"That's bad," Al said, but his tone suggested that he wasn't really talking to Roy. He pulled away and started getting to his feet. "You've got to be out of here by eleven. I need to talk to Brother."

Roy placed his bare feet on the cold floorboards. He followed Al into the hallway, calling after him, but the boy didn't answer.

He cursed to himself, wishing he had spark gloves, dry ones at that, that he could use to find the doors in this hallway.

Lightening flashed outside and he got a quick look: it was just a short hallway with two doors and an open archway leading to the kitchen.

He waited for more bolts to help his search. No one was in the kitchen. No one was in the bathroom. No one was in the study, although there was a large, suspicious stain on the floor.

He walked into the kitchen and tried the back door. It was locked from the inside.

Roy cursed to himself. "Where did those boys go?"

He returned to the front room to wait for Alphonse's return. As he did, he passed a grandmother clock whose face was dim in the fire's glow.

"One 'til. Why's it so important that I leave anyway?"

He stood there, wondering, for a moment. Then, on the dot, blue trickled down the hallway, changing rapidly to violet. The rebound sent electricity flying through the air. Roy turned, quickly, but screams were already rending the air. He could not make it to the study door before the transmutation ended, plunging him back into darkness.

As he fumbled for the door, he heard Edward's voice calling out for his mother and his younger brother in turn.

"I'm coming!" Roy shouted. "Just hang on!"

There were more screams, somehow _more_ worrying than the last. "He's my younger brother! Just give him back!"

Clang! Something must have fallen to the floor, as though knocked down in a struggle.

Roy found the doorknob in the light of a new transmutation and burst into the study.

A large shape was lying on the floor's stain, writing and moaning. All he could make out of it was a pair of glowing red eyes. It lay in a complex circle of white chalk that Roy _knew_ hadn't been there a few minutes ago.

"Edward?" he called. "Alphonse?"

He scanned the corners of the room and saw Ed's long hair lying on the floor, the rest of his small form in a sobbing ball among a fallen suit of armor. His brother was nowhere in sight.

Roy bound to him and scooped up his freezing body. "Are you hurt? Where's Alphonse?"

His nephew stopped sobbing at once, features momentarily relaxing.

Was that relief?

It didn't last long. As quickly as he'd broken out of his grief, he fell into panic. His whole form was shaking.

Or, Roy realized with a jolt, what was left of it. He wasn't bleeding, but the boy's right arm and left leg were nowhere to be seen. Why wasn't he bleeding with such fresh wounds?

"Out of the house! Now!"

Roy pulled the frightened child to his chest. "We'll be fine. Where's your brother?"

"The neighbors'! Hurry!"

Wherever the boy was, it couldn't be the neighbors' house: when would he have left? Roy looked quickly around the room for Alphonse, but there was still no sign of the other Elric brother. Even the thing on the floor had ceased to move. Out in the hallway, something flickered.

He ran to the door. The entire hallway was aflame.

Edward cursed. "We told you: out by eleven!"

Roy set his eyes on the archway to the kitchen. If they could just make it, they could get out the back door. He sprinted across, leaping over flames and wincing when they got close. He could feel static in the air, threatening to electrocute them.

He reached for the lock. It turned of its own accord before they got there, door opening and sending Roy tumbling out with Edward in his arms.

He set Edward a safer distance away and turned. The boy grabbed his ankle with a vice-like grip. "Al's not in there, okay? You've got to get to safety."

"There was no time for him to leave!"

Edward swore and suddenly released Roy's ankle. The man glanced back to assure himself of the boy's safety, but Edward had vanished. "Edward?"

"Get out of here!"

Roy recoiled at Edward's disembodied voice. He came to himself a moment later, looking at the orange inferno consuming the house. "Alphonse!"

"Uncle Roy," the voice belonged to Alphonse this time. It sounded close to his ear, although the child could not be seen. "You need to get to safety. You can visit our graves in the morning."

He froze as the realization set in. The strange whiff of ashes on the porch, the boys' icy touch, their disappearing act, and now their disembodied voices – even an alchemist knew what they had to be. His muscles tensed.

Meanwhile, the fire was spitting, catching on a nearby tree.

"GO!"

Roy's leaden legs turned into springs. He practically slid down the muddy hill and battled his way up to the neighbor's house. He bounded up to the steps and pounded on the door, a barking dog announcing his presence.

The door opened and there stood the little old woman from earlier.

He tried to form a coherent sentence, but his mind was still racing. "Fire! Ghosts! My nephews!"

The old woman smacked him. His eyes focused on her. "Feeling better?"

He shook his head slightly, placing one hand on his head and the other on the doorpost to steady himself. "What happened to them?"

The elder pointed him inside the living room, past a coffee table covered in tools and metal parts, to a cushioned bench. "Go calm yourself. I think I've still got some of my son's old clothes in the attic." She climbed up the stairs and descended several minutes later with a pair of dry boxers and some worn blue pajamas.

Before long, Roy was dry, warm, and sipping at a cup of chamomile tea. He told the old woman, Pinako Rockbell, what had occurred next door.

She fixed him a look. "You actually talked to Alphonse after the fire?"

"Yes, why?"

Pinako sighed. "We found Edward and some fully-grown adult, but we never found Alphonse. A few of us were still holding out hope that he was still alive somewhere."

Roy stared into his warm cup of thin liquid. "How long ago?"

"Two months. We don't know why they're still here, why that tragedy repeats itself every night. They hardly ever show themselves when someone tries to talk to them."

"Maybe they wouldn't." He set his cup on the saucer a knitted his fingers together, resting his head on his hands. He stared at the table's grain as he thought about what he'd seen in that study: a careful array with a humanoid product. He knew why, but who was it? Their mother? "That electrical fire was set off by an alchemy accident. It's something they most likely don't want to admit to."

Pinako grumbled something into her teacup that Roy didn't quite catch. "...sounds just like them. Please don't mention anything about this to my granddaughter: Ed and Al were her best friends."

* * *

The next morning, Roy sat in front of three plots in the Risembool cemetery. A mother and her children, just a few years apart. He wished he'd had more time with them, at least to have been able to meet Ed and Al while they were still alive.

He stood and pulled his watch out of his pocket. The hands showed he still had time before he had to catch his train, so he allowed his feet to lead him over the long road to the ruins of #23.

He stopped before the path passed a burnt tree from which hung a snapped piece of rope, a rotting plank of wood in the grass below.

The house burned down every night? Then what time was it restored to its former glory? Did the boys still haunt it while it was in its ruins? "I'm leaving today. Thanks for letting me meet you."

He turned to leave, but he heard a creak behind him like an opening door. He looked back. There, neatly folded on the charred doorstep, were his clothes, untouched from the night before. He marched over and picked them up, but it wasn't just his clothes there.

On top of his jacket was a small stack of photos: his sister, and her two sons. His eyes met the inside of the house, dark, black, but filled with the love of two young boys. They were still here.

 _Uncle Roy, can you come and visit us once in a while? It gets lonely._

He smiled. _If I come, will you let me in?_

The ghosts didn't answer him, but he swore he could feel them waving goodbye from the porch.


End file.
